Saying Goodbye Doesn't Get Easier
by johnlockismyotp
Summary: This is a pretty short fanfiction, I just liked the idea. Apologies for it not being too great. (y)


Sherlock had returned to 221B Baker Street to find nobody home. His and John's apartment looked as though nobody had set foot inside it for months. Every object he could see had a layer of dust, and the place was a mess.

He actually found himself looking for clues as to what might've happened, knowing that if John had been there recently then it would not have looked like this. His face was full of confusion as he picked up a mug and looked closely at the remains of tea inside it, he couldn't tell whether – wait, footsteps. Somebody had come through the open door.

He could hear from the sound of their feet that this was a woman, old and scared. "Who's there?" Mrs Hudson's familiar voice questioned, "Tell me who it is or I'll call the police!"

"There's no need for the police." Sherlock whispered, placing the mug back on the table and going round to where she could see him, "It's only me."

Tears appeared in Mrs Hudson's eyes as she raised her hand to her mouth. "No… what… It can't be!"

"It is, Mrs Hudson, it is. And I shall explain later – however first I would like you to tell me exactly where John is." He wouldn't have moved out, that's not what John w_ould _do.

"Oh Sherlock," she whispered as one of the said tears rolled out of her eye and onto her wrinkled cheek, "You don't know…"

"Yes, Mrs Hudson, this is a rare occasion where I do not know what is going on, now, tell me where he is!" his voice verged on angry as he took hold of the woman's shoulders. He was desperate to know that his best friend was okay, so desperate that he would start yelling if he wasn't told soon.

"In hospital, Sherlock, he's in a coma."

"No…"

"He is. Has been for three months, but… they reckon he'll wake, so don't fret."

"Three months…" Sherlock whispered. That was a sixth of the time he'd been gone for. Part of him wished he'd been in hospital for longer, in hope that he hadn't found anybody else, and that he hadn't forgotten him.

"Yes, three months. Banged his head, after drinking a bit too much. Actually, Sherlock, he started doing that a lot after you… died…"

Guilt swam through Sherlock's stomach and bit him in the gut. He'd never felt guilty before, and he didn't like it one bit. After taking a deep breath and staring at the floor for a moment, however, he seemed okay again. "I'm going to see him."

"I don't think you'll be allowed in, everyone thinks you're dead!"

"So what? There's no law against ghosts and zombies going in to visit people, is there?"

"No, Sherlock, but - "

"But nothing, Mrs Hudson."

"But what about Molly and Lestrade! Shouldn't you visit them first? Lestrade blames himself you know, Sherlock, and Molly got terribly sad. They both love you. As much as John and I do."

"But I…" Sherlock was about to say the words he'd never said to anybody before, the words that ran, 'I love John Watson more than anybody', but of course, he couldn't say that. Even if he was going to say that, the first person to hear it couldn't be Mrs Hudson.

"Go on then, Sherlock. Do what you want. You always do."

The man grabbed hold of her and hugged her tightly, before thanking her and running out of the apartment. He grabbed the first cab and off he went, down to St Barts.

"JOHN! JOHN!" Sherlock yelled as he ran up to his best friend's ward, he knew exactly where coma patients were; now all he had to do was find the right room.

"JOHN? JOHN? JOHN!" He'd found him.

His best friend laid alone in an empty room. His eyes were shut, his arms laying by his side. He looked so at peace, and so beautiful. Sherlock walked over and sat in the chair by his bedside, he took hold of his hand and watched. Waiting…

Three weeks later, Sherlock was still by his bed. He had barely moved an inch since he'd first got there, much to the nurses' disapproval.

He was tired, and hungry, yet he was not losing hope.

Then finally, it happened. John woke up. His eyes slowly flickered open, and he stared at the man holding his hand. Sherlock's heart flew back up to where it was meant to be, and lit up his chest, "John…" he whispered.

The nurses came, they sorted him out, and within seven hours he was ready to go, and he was allowed out to where Sherlock was waiting for him.

"John, I can't believe you're –" Sherlock paused, John looked thoroughly confused, and a nurse was stood by him.

"Mr Holmes, a word?" She led Sherlock down the hallwa, leaving John looking even more bewildered than ever, "Your friend has lost quite a large amount of his memory. I'm afraid he doesn't remember anything that happened in the past few years. And he doesn't know you, either…"

Sherlock swallowed hard, "You.. You must have made a mistake."

"I haven't. I'm sorry." She scurried off, her face in her hands as she went, leaving Sherlock and John alone.

"John?"

"…Hello…?"

"You remember me, right?"

"I'm.. I'm afraid I have no idea who you are."

"John, this isn't funny."

"I'm not laughing."

"It's me!"

"I don't know you! I'm sorry, but I have no idea who you are. At all."

"John!" his voice got angrier, "John, stop kidding around! Please!"

A blank stare from his best friend told Sherlock that this was definitely not a joke. The only person Sherlock truly trusted was gone. The only person Sherlock could _really _count as a friend was gone. His whole world – was gone.

"Please…" he sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting room and hid his face in his large, cold hands.

"I'm sorry."

Sherlock inhaled deeply. He knew what he had to do, as painful as it would be. He had to say goodbye to John for a second time, it was obviously what was supposed to happen, they weren't meant to be together. It was for the best, if he was honest. He'd brought John nothing but trouble ever since he'd met him that day. It was time to leave his best friend, and let him live a normal, full life without him. He just wished it wasn't.

"Actually… You know what…" he stared down at his shoes, seeing a few tears trickle from his eyes and hit the ground with a noise that sounded so loud to him that it almost hurt his ears, "My mistake. Wrong person."

"What?"

"I said I had the wrong person." His voice cracked as he spoke, but he continued.

John creased his forehead, "Right… How did you, uh, manage to do that?"

"Worrying. Causes hallucinations sometimes. I thought you were the man I loved, I was wrong, I apologise."

"It's okay,"

"It's not." Sherlock stood up and walked away, his heart smashing into fifteen billion shards, many getting lost as it did so, just to make sure his heart would never be fixed back together again.


End file.
